CHAPTER I.

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THE

REBELLION IN THE CEVENNES,

AN HISTORICAL NOVEL

IN TWO VOLUMES.

BY LUDWIG TIECK.

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN BY

MADAME BURETTE.

VOL. I.

LONDON:

D. NUTT, FLEET STREET.

DUBLIN: J. CUMMING.--EDINBURGH: BELL AND BRADFUTE.

1845.

PREFACE.

A predilection for the productions of TIECK and a desire to introduce

this remarkable work of the great German Poet to a larger circle of the

reading world: were the chief inducements, on the part of the

translator, for causing it to appear in an English form. As far as

regards the manner in which the translation itself has been executed,

the writer will be allowed to affirm, that the original has been, in

every sense, as closely adhered to, as the idiom of the English

language would admit of; to say, however, whether those efforts have

been attended with any corresponding success, must be humbly left to

the judgment of the discerning critic.

HISTORICAL NOTICE

OF THE

"REBELLION IN THE CEVENNES."

From the German of the CONVERSATIONS LEXICON, 9th edit. Brockhaus.

As far back as the twelfth century, religions sects were formed in this

district (the Cevennes) under the names of "The Poor of Lyons," "The

Albigenses," "Waldenses," &c. Notwithstanding the crusades and

inquisitions raised against them by the popes for centuries, numerous

remnants had preserved themselves, who, when the Reformation found a

footing, obtained a signal increase, and finally, through the edict of

Nantes, were protected from further persecutions. But when Louis XIV.,

1685, revoked the edict and purposed to reconduct all his subjects by

force into the bosom of the Catholic Church, then began a series of the

most cruel persecutions against the Protestant inhabitants of the

districts bordering on the Cevennes, especially after the peace of

Ryswick, 1697. Missionaries were accompanied by dragoons in order to

support by force of arms the preachings of the monks, (hence these

conversions called _dragoonings_) and the tax collectors were directed

to require all, especially those, suspected of protestantism, to pay up

their taxes. The most savage cruelties, in which children were torn

from their parents, in order to bring them up in the Catholic faith,

men, who were gone to their houses of prayer, sent to the galleys, and

women thrown into prisons, their priests hanged, the churches

destroyed, at length produced despair. Those, who did not emigrate,

fled into the retired mountain districts.

Prophets and prophetesses arose, promising victory to the peasantry,

and esteeming him a martyr, who fell into the hands of the dragoons. A

remarkable fanaticism took possession of the Protestant people, which,

in many, even in children, shewed itself in the most fantastic trances

of a really epidemic nature. See Bruyes "Histoire du fanatisme de notre

temps" (Utrecht, 1757). The struggle began first with the murder of the

tax-gatherers; the assassination of the Abbe du Chaila, 1703, who was

at the head of those dragoonings, at length gave the signal for a

general rising. The revolted peasants were called "Camisards," either

from the provincial word Camise (shirt) in derision of their poverty,

or, because they wore a shirt in their surprises by which they might

recognise one another, or from the word "Camisade" (nightly surprise).

Their numbers and their fanaticism continued to increase, Louis's power

was rendered the less effective in putting an end to this insurrection,

as the chain of mountains presented sufficient places of refuge, and

his troops were every moment in danger of being cut off and surprised,

or of being destroyed by cold and hunger. The boldness of the Camisards

increased daily, especially as they placed at their head intrepid

leaders, among whom Cavalier[1] particularly distinguished himself. The

state of affairs became most critical, for Louis XIV., when the Spanish

war of succession required him to extend his forces on all sides, and

Marlborough and the Duke of Savoy, through promises and small succours,

fired still more the Camisards. On the other hand, Pope Clement XI.

in 1703, proclaimed a plenary summons to a crusade against them, which

was put in execution. Notwithstanding this, they almost totally

defeated the troops of the Marshal Montrevel sent against them with

20,000 men, in 1703, and the horrible cruelty of the latter only

excited still more their fanaticism. Recompensing evil with evil, they

strangled eighty-four priests in the diocese of Nismes and burned two

hundred churches, after 40,000 of their own party had been put to the

wheel, burnt, and hanged. At length, in order to give to the perilous

state of affairs another turn, Louis recalled Marshal Montrevel, 1704,

and sent Marshal Villars. One of the chiefs of the Camisards meditated

an alliance with the Duke of Savoy in Dauphine. The whole country from

the coast to the highest crest of the mountains was more or less in

their hands and with the inhabitants of Nismes, Montpellier, Orange,

Uzes, &c., &c., they maintained communications, which secured to them

bread, arms, and other necessaries. A quantity of bells had been melted

down by them to serve for cannons, and Cavalier acquitted himself like

a skilful general. The Catholic peasantry ventured neither to cultivate

the land, nor to carry necessaries of life into the towns. Thus stood

affairs, when Villars on the 21st of April, arrived in Nismes. He too

was incapable, of subduing the insurgents by force of arms. He

therefore decided on trying the effect of milder measures, and

proclaimed a general amnesty for all, who would lay down their arms,

and set at liberty himself such prisoners as swore fealty. In fact he

disarmed in this manner several communities. On the other side he

menaced with the harshest punishment, and to give weight to it,

moveable columns were formed, which marched from a given point in every

direction, upon which again detachments were ordered to remain as a

reserve, to succour those who might make head against the enemy in the

open field. Those, who were made prisoners with arms in their hands,

were either killed on the spot, or hanged, or broken on the wheel in

Alais, Nismes, and St. Hippolyte. Villars succeeded so far, that

already on the 10th of May, Cavalier gave up the cause of the Camisards

as lost, and concluded a treaty, wherein he promised to surrender with

his party on condition that they should obtain liberty of conscience

and the right to assemble privately without the towns for the service

of God, that the prisoners should be set free, the emigrated recalled,

and the confiscated estates and privileges restored. On the 22nd the

confirmation of the treaty arrived from Paris, and at the same time

permission for Cavalier to form a regiment in the King's pay. In the

mean while, however, the affair rapidly took another turn, particularly

in consequence of the activity of Dutch emissaries, who, brought money

and weapons, and promised the support of their republic. Cavalier had

gone to Anglade to superintend the organization of his regiment, when

the wild peasantry, excited by his lieutenant and inspired by their

prophets, set out and marched into the neighbouring woods, declaring

firmly, the King should restore the edict of Nantes, without which

there was no security for them. At length, however, Villars succeeded

by his personal influence and by cutting off from them all means of

subsistence, to bring them under subjection. Many of them fled and

entered into the Piedmontese service, where they formed a regiment that

took part in the Spanish war, and later under Cavalier's command, was

destroyed at the battle of Almanza, which Berwick gave to the Count of

Stahremberg on the 25th of April, 1707. The whole insurrection,

however, was not, quelled by that subjugation. There were still

multitudes, among which one particularly distinguished itself, led on

by a certain Roland; but Villars sought only to become possessed of the

leaders. Roland, when taken prisoner, was shot by a dragoon, whereupon

the remaining leaders surrendered, and cards of security were given to

them, and their adherents by the Marshal, which secured them from every

persecution. Yet, before Villars had fully stilled the rebellion, he

was replaced by the Marshal of Berwick, who fell upon the chief leaders

of the Camisards in Montpellier, caused them to be burnt and broken on

the wheel, and the country cruelly laid waste. Driven to extremity by

this, the Camisards rose once again with more enthusiastic inspiration.

They were, however, too weak to finish this warfare successfully. Thus

they died, some with arms in their hands, some as emigrants, others

submitted in order to preserve their faith, even under the greatest

oppression, or were forcibly constrained to become Catholics. Thus

ended this insurrection with the total devastation of the province and

the annihilation, or exile of a large portion of its inhabitants. Since

then, in the South of France, merely a war of opinion, lay smouldering,

which after the restoration of the Bourbons in the year 1815, gave rise

to frightful scenes in Nismes, and at other places. Only when in March

1819, a great number of the inhabitants of the Cevennes threatened the

town of Nismes--"Thirty thousand men are ready to descend from their

mountains, with the weapons of despair, if the salvation of their

brethren demand it,"--the persecutions of the Protestants were put a

stop to. See "Histoire des Camisards," (2 vols, London, 1744) Court de

Gebelin, "Le Patriote francais et impartial," (2 vols, Villefranche

1753) by the same "Histoire des troubles des Cevennes, ou de la guerre

des Camisards," (3 vols, Villefranche, 1760, new edition 1820) Schulz,

"Geschichte der Camisarden" (Weimar 1790), and Tieck's novel, "Der

Aufruhr in den Cevennen" (Berlin 1826).

[Footnote 1: Jean Cavalier, principal leader of the Camisards in the

war of the Cevennes, born 1679 in the village of Rebaute, near Anduse,

vas the son of a peasant, he lived at Geneva, and was employed in

agriculture, when the persecutions of the reformed inhabitants of the

Cevennes under Louis XIV. reached their highest pitch, and caused the

breaking out of the troubles, enflaming his enthusiasm for his faith,

and inducing him to return home. He was twenty-four years old, when he

placed himself at the head of armed multitudes, whom he knew how to

discipline with great art, and to rule over with transcendent talent,

leading them, with courage, circumspection and success against the

royal army. The confirmation of the treaty, which he, despairing of the

ultimate success of his cause, had concluded with Marshal Villars,

Louis XIV. sent to him accompanied with the commission of colonel, and

the grant of an annual pension of 1200 livres, permitting him at the

same time to raise a regiment of his own in the king's pay. Called to

Versailles by the Minister Chamillard, he saw that he was watched there

with distrust, and he fled secretly to England by way of Holland,

entering there into military service. In the Spanish war then raging,

he commanded a regiment formed of refugee Camisards in the service of

Piedmont and distinguished himself particularly in the battle of

Almanza, in New Castile, on the 25th of April, 1707, where he was

severely wounded. At a later period he became Major-general and

Governor of Jersey; and died, 1740, at Chelsea.]

THE

REBELLION IN THE CEVENNES.

CHAPTER I.

"Is Edmond not yet come home?" asked his father of the servant, as he

walked up and down the great hall of his country mansion.

"No, my Lord," answered the old man, "and it were well that he

returned before evening; for a storm is gathering over the mountains,

which bodes us no good."

At this moment a little girl entered with her toys, and sat down at the

large hall table. "The storm is raging again so fearfully up in the

mountains," said she carressingly, "that I will stay near you, dear

papa, I cannot bear such weather, why should there be such noise and

thunder in the world?"

"Aye, truly," rejoined Frantz, the old domestic, "and all the misery

that has oppressed us for so many years past and to which we see no

end!"

"He only knows, who has thus afflicted us," replied the father,

sighing; "and he will accomplish his own wise purpose."

"Papa!" exclaimed the child, looking up from her play, "our good

Eustace, the charcoalburner, who used to bring me such pretty little

stones from the wood, and who lately brought the large wild bird, which

he said, was a thrush; the black good man is now become a satan too."

"What art thou chattering there about!" said her father angrily; "who

told you this?"

"Martha, my nurse," replied the child; "for he is now in rebellion

against his God and his king, until they take him prisoner and burn, or

otherwise put him to death, for he will no longer be a Christian;

Martha said so this morning, while she was dressing me, and she intends

going to the town next week to see the other satans put to death; pray,

allow her to go, dear papa? she thinks it will more particularly

confirm and strengthen her in her faith, for she too has gone a little

astray, and has almost fallen into evil ways. The evil one is very

powerful in the neighbourhood, particularly up yonder in the mountains,

he is quite at home there; we are much better down here. Papa, the figs

are becoming ripe already in the garden."

"Thou chatterer!" said her father, in a tone of displeasure, "I shall

take care that you are not so much alone with the old woman."

"It is true enough," interrupted the domestic, "Eustace is up in the

mountains with Roland, and has joined the Camisards, his wife and

children sit mourning in their desolate home; they are destitute of

food, and dread being arrested and, perhaps, condemned on his account."

"I believe," said the Lord of Beauvais, "that you have already relieved

them, my good Frantz, if not, do it now; give them what necessaries

they may require, but do it prudently, that we may not be called upon

to answer for it; for in this general affliction of want and confusion,

every thing is suspicious. A man may do as he pleases provided he

becomes not a tyrant, and places himself on a level with the

executioner."

"Like our Marshal," exclaimed the old man impetuously, "like our

Intendant; like the lords there in Nismes, who in the name of God

sacrifice their brethren. I have sent some relief to these poor people

already, and will provide them with more; it is only a drop of water in

the sea, but still in this distress it will comfort a few poor

creatures."

The servant retired, and as her father turned a mournful glance towards

the mountains, his little daughter approached him smilingly, kissed his

hand, and said: "Papa, pray let not you and Frantz became wicked and

rebels, for then brother Edmond and I would go to heaven quite alone,

and I should not like that; I can never agree with Edmond, he is so

terribly pious, you are much better, though your faith may not be of

the best kind."

"You say truly, _terribly_ pious;" said the old man, "Oh heaven, when

will it please thee to deliver us from these afflictions?"

"There comes Edmond along the garden," said the child, "it will be

better not to say anything to him about the wicked Eustace, for we

shall have noise and disputes again; he does not like such things at

all."

Edmond entered, bowed, put his gun in the corner, and laid aside his

pouch. A large dog came bounding up to the little girl, who played with

him, and held up some pieces of broken bread.

"Where have you been this morning, my son?" inquired his father.

"At the Intendant's, at the Lord of Basville's," replied Edmond without

raising his eyes. "Yonder in Alais, where he will stop for a few days

in consequence of the trial of the rebels. He commends himself to you,

but he is rather surprised that you should have refused the appointment

offered, and thinks that the Marshal would understand it still less."

"The Marshal, my son," began the father, not without emotion, "there

are many things that he cannot understand. I thank my God that I

retired to this solitude more than ten years ago, for were I still in

office, my conscience would compel me to resign it now, and that

perhaps would be still more incomprehensible to these two valiant

gentlemen. I neither envy nor admire their patriotism and God preserve

our family from the fate of rendering such services to the king.

Therefore, my dear, my beloved son, I once more give you a paternal

warning to abandon these men, it would send me to the grave to see you

act like them. What do they require of us? no open, direct service, no

assistance which becomes citizens, and which all honorable men are

ready to render: but we are required to turn spies and betray our

fellow-subjects and our countrymen, to give them up to the rack and to

the stake, and to rejoice in the inhumanity which depopulates the land,

and congratulate ourselves at having incurred the hatred of God and of

all mankind, and if we enquire into this too closely, we are looked

upon as traitors to our king and country."

"Is it ever permitted to a subject to enquire?" hastily rejoined

Edmond, "I am aware of your sentiments, my father, and I regret them;

but ought the subject to enquire into this? May I be allowed to ask

where is the submission, where are the ties that bind him to the state,

where the holiness, the sublimity, the piety, the honor by which we are

men and citizens, and upon which our virtue and existence repose; if I

am permitted to say: here I renounce my obedience to you, this you dare

not command, though you were my king; though my country, even heaven

itself should speak to me through your revered lips."

"You are right, my son," replied the old man, "and because you ask

this, you will ever be in the right; the ruler should with humble piety

and with godly fear keep within these limits, respect the conscience of

his subjects, keep inviolate the promises, the oaths which his noble

predecessors made, and which he has repeated after them, and not hurl

with his own hand the burning brand into his granaries, by raising up

extortioners, judges, and persecutors!--And woe to those, who thus

abuse the weakness of his age, his pliable conscience and their own

influence; and woe to him who is appointed to fill these offices to

slaughter good and pious men; but tenfold woe to the upright man, who

from ambition, or a mistaken sense of duty, advances and sets fire to

the stake, and extends the rack still more horribly."

"It grieves me, my father," said Edmond, suppressing his anger, "I am

overwhelmed with inexpressible anguish at being compelled to feel

myself so immeasurably distant from you in all that is dearest,

holiest, most natural and nearest to my heart! From the moment that I

was capable of thinking and feeling, our ancient and holy religion has

been to me the most sacred, the most sublime, in her alone my heart

lives, all my wishes and aspirations are brightly reflected in this

clear crystal; this which love itself has proclaimed, this which is

itself love, eternal, invisible, to us lost creatures become visible by

descending in the form of a child, as our brother and nearest

neighbour, and then suffering so painful a death for our wanderings and

in this most devoted sacrifice thinking only of us, and of all our

infirmities and corruptions in life and in death:--ought I ever to

forget this, can I disdain it; my heart which this love consumes with

gratitude; ought it to suffer this transcendent miracle of love to be

annihilated, to be trampled in the dust, and all that is most holy

reduced with scornful impiety to ruins, in order to associate it with

all that is most contemptible?"

"Who requires that, my son?" exclaimed the old man; "even Turks and

Heathens would and could not demand it, still less our brethren, who

only desire to approach in plainness and simplicity that

incomprehensible being, who, notwithstanding his immensity, so

intimately and so closely connects himself with all our hearts in love

and simplicity."

"In this portrait," said the son, "it would indeed be impossible to

recognise those, who murder our priests, set fire to our sanctuaries,

rob the peasant, and if they are victorious, which God forbid, would

extend their heresy with fire and sword over the land."

"You see it thus, my son," said the old man, "because you will see it

so; we misunderstand each other in this affair, for you resist

conviction, and certainly as long as you are governed by this feeling,

you will never possess that dispassionate clearness of mind, which

according to my judgment, is necessary to render us susceptible of

religion; and this alone is the true spirit of christianity, for which,

it is true, you struggle with enthusiasm, but you cannot live in true

devoted love."

The son rose indignantly from his seat, and walked hastily up and down

the saloon, then he seized his father's hand, looked at him earnestly,

and said: "Enthusiasm? with this word then, with this vague sound you

have satisfied yourself, and responded to my sorrowing spirit. This is

it exactly what the world desires, what the despairing one means whose

heart is dead. Is it not so, the martyrs and heroes of the christian

church were merely enthusiasts then?--and those who joyfully shed their

blood and endured martyrdom for Him, to whom they could not offer too

great a sacrifice of love and suffering, were fanatics too, because

they were deficient in understanding and composure? All these miracles

of love are merely the crude wanderings of delirious passion, which

those celestial spirits have contemplated from on high, not with

emotion and joy, but only with compassionate smiles, and those who

expired in ecstasy are immediately greeted with grave looks and

admonishing reproof! Oh, rather than discipline my throbbing heart to

such presumption and vile incredulity, I would tear it palpitating from

my breast, trample it under foot and throw it to the dogs for food."

"We will drop the subject," said the father, half angry, half moved,

while he took a large book from the mantel-piece.

"I blame not your sentiments, far be it from me to censure what is

sacred, but you do not know what it is, you have yet to learn that

greatness and truth lie only on the verge, on the transition-point of

this feeling; as we have beheld them in their ecstasy, we must draw

back with timidity and reverence; but should the lying spirit entice us

in our spiritual revellings to higher enthusiasm and visions, we sink

under mental voluptuousness, and delusive images, fearful fancies take

prisoners soul and heart, love dies within us; and you will be obliged

to go through this sad probation, my son, and God knows if the issue

does not leave you a seared, an empty heart, or perhaps a hypocrite,

for thy path through life will not be smooth and easy."

With these words, the Lord of Beauvais sat down to read, his son took

his hand and said in a gentle tone, "No, no, my father, let us go on

with this subject, which once for all occupies my whole life. Is it

possible that this reading, this reasoning of Plato can interest you at

this moment? Am I permitted to feel as you do, am I not obliged to

blindly obey, if moreover, this obedience accord with my sentiments?"

"St! st!" exclaimed the little girl playfully, and the dog ran barking

towards the door, and could only be silenced by his master's whistling

to him. "Is it not true," said Eveline, "that Hector is entirely of the

true faith, for he might be so easily set upon the Camisards?"

"Silly child!" exclaimed Edmond reddening with anger, the father shook

his head at her, but she continued: "Edmond said even now that he would

give his heart to Hector to eat, therefore I may well consider him a

very peculiar sort of dog." "Come Hector, they always do us injustice;"

thus saying, she took the dog by the collar and both went into the

garden.

"I understand you not, my father," commenced Edmond after a pause, "you

are religious, you visit the church with devotion, I must consider you

attached to it, however often a suspicion to the contrary may occur to

me, and yet can you contemplate it with composure, that destruction

threatens this our church, and does she not in the most gracious manner

fulfil all the desires and yearnings of our hearts? I feel ever

incensed, when many priests urge so strenuously the necessity of good

works, virtue and morality; Heathens can teach us that, and our very

reason exacts it from us; however much these must be respected, it is

the progressive development and formation of the miraculous that I

perceive in history which always so powerfully affect my heart. In the

distance lies the first miracle dark and indistinct; but veiled

entirely in love. The gift of prophecy was not withdrawn after the

apostles; saints and martyrs followed in the steps of the departed, and

fulfilled that which the former predicted, the mystery of love is

interminable, and can only be explained by a new mystery. That the

explanation of the holy sacrament should be sanctioned by decrees of

the church, disturbs me not, while to the worldly only it appears a

mere temporal event; for in the insignificant germ lie already

concealed the blossom and sweetness of the fruit, which become ripe

only by that which we call time. Thus it happened that at a later

period the forebodings of the soul were fulfilled, and she, who had

given birth to the Saviour was worshipped as heavenly; festivals were

celebrated in her honour. Thus the prophetic song from the mouth of one

prophet descends through all ages, and is never silent, even to

futurity. Festival follows festival, temples and images follow statues,

posterity will turn with deep emotion to the love of the present, as we

enraptured trace the past, only through this mutability, through this

re-echoing of the Eternal Word is the truth made manifest to me,

through this alone am I convinced that it went forth in former times,

by this means, that it apparently changes, as the leaf into the

blossom, the flower into the fruit, and the fruit yields again the seed

of the flower, it is a permanent, an eternal truth; through this

endless, this inexhaustible abundance, resembling an ocean of love, by

anticipating each individual sense, by quenching every desire, by

satisfying the hungry: by this only it becomes something simple,

authentic and independent, and I abhor the interpretations of those

innovators, who would treat these miraculous events as a tale, who

venture to call our mass with its symbols, lights, temples, pomp, and

music idolatry, and by thus warring against the most sacred things,

according to the feelings of my heart, they war against God himself,

and they must be rooted out and destroyed like noxious, venemous

reptiles."

"I understand you, my son, and would willingly believe you in the

right, for in fact you have only been declaring my own sentiments on

this subject. If such are your feelings and this be your faith, there

should be no further strife not only between us, but any one else. If

you feel that Christianity in its various forms, rejects no want, no

desire, that it is permitted to every mind to worship according to its

own light, but in the spirit of truth, the Eternal Being, then those

meek hearts, that shrink affrighted from this parade and song, from

this splendour of the temple and from the artificial culture of

religious mystery, will not be excluded from the community. Those, who

like the disciple John and the apostles of Jesus, visit the wilderness

of Jordan, and there in the dreariness of the mountains and in holy

solitude willingly listen to the Eternal Word, and are anxious to erect

there their church like the hut at Bethlehem, lest their fervid

imaginations might be overwhelmed with the splendour and sculptured

beauty of the statues, and thereby forget their salvation and their

God. These people here are likewise true Christians, my son, whatever

our priests may say to you about it, and the Father will not reject

them. There arose long since in our Cevennes, and in the valleys of the

Albigences, a simple faith, a peaceful retreat, far from the pomp and

ambiguity of the episcopal and popish church. It may be, that for the

good of mankind, for religion, education, and liberty, it was expedient

in those earlier ages, that the Bishop of Rome should declare himself

the head-shepherd and lay the foundation of a spiritual kingdom; but,

that the christian church in later times has declined on that account,

admits of no doubt. The bishops and priests were now no longer simple

teachers of the word and imitators of the apostles, but they became the

head-servants of their spiritual master, who in the disputes of the

times was compelled to think first of himself and of his own power,

while he assigned to religion that only which was not detrimental to

it; therefore it resulted, that when the quiet inhabitants of Alby

assembled in their wooded valleys, resolving to free themselves from

the abuses, the arbitrary dogmas, as well as from the corruptions of

the priests, they were persecuted as heretics, who sought to overturn

the papal chair, and therefore Christianity itself. Had there been

then, as there was formerly, a free independent church of bishops,

these enlightened minds would have found protection and peace, they

would have been allowed to assemble in their houses of prayer with

their priests, and serve God in what manner they thought it their duty

to do, instead of which, crusades were preached against them and their

innocent blood, which has been so inhumanly shed, still cries up to

heaven. Even if the papal hierarchy and Christianity had not been one

and the same thing, there would still have arisen in our mountains

great preachers and reformers of the church. When the papal authority

began to totter, such teachers as these spread themselves among our

mountains and Calvin's disciples found minds, which had been long

prepared to receive his doctrines. This form of faith is here as

natural and holy as yours may be in other parts, and he only could

resolve on extirpating them by persecution, who misunderstands the

beautiful and tolerating spirit of Christianity, indeed it appears to

me, that he must be entirely inimical to this religion of love. Since

Luther and Calvin, a civil war has raged through every province for

nearly a century; dearly was this cherished liberty to be paid for, of

which the popes and bishops have so unjustly robbed mankind. A light

shone in the midst of this gloom, our fourth Henry stepped forward and

extended the olive-branch of peace over all his dominions. By the edict

of Nantes liberty of conscience was ensured by a royal oath, and by the

unanimous consent of the parliament, and confirmed by all the states

and provinces: his successor renewed this oath, and our ruler, Louis

XIV, could not be recognised king, before he agreed to reign over

Evangelical as well as Roman Catholic subjects: thus was the oath which

he took for himself and his posterity ratified to us; he has reigned

many years with happiness and renown, but now in his old age,

surrounded by ambitious and superstitious minds, now that his bright

star has long set, now that his country is impoverished and exhausted;

that his armies are defeated; that enemies threaten his frontiers, and

even his very capital,--now that Germany, England, and Holland, here in

the neighbourhood, Savoy, menace us with the most dire misfortune,--now

his conscience awakes, he thinks to be able to conquer heaven and

fortune, by suffering Catholic subjects only to call him king. He sends

with inconceivable blindness--converting ministers into these

mountains; and threats, compulsion, massacre and pillage are the

exhortations employed towards this unfortunate people; now we have

witnessed these horrors in our very neighbourhood; however zealous you

may be for your party, my son, I know that your humane heart has been

agonised more than once by these proceedings. Suddenly--could he do it,

ask yourself if he might? the king revokes that edict and voluntarily

absolves himself from his oath, without at the same time consulting

that of his predecessors, of the parliament, and of all the states in

the kingdom; he himself destroys, in his religious madness, that which

binds him to the citizen, that attaches the subject to him, the sacred

palladium, the undefilable is profaned and annihilated, and the

wretched inhabitants are yielded a prey to wrath, to murder, and to the

fearful frenzy of the bloodthirsty; the peaceful weaver, the shepherd,

the honest labourer, who was but yesterday a devout Christian, a

respected citizen, a good subject, is through the revocation of the

edict, without any fault of his own, now a rebel, an outlaw, for whom

the wheel and the stake are prepared; against whom all, even the most

savage and disgraceful cruelty is permitted; his temples are closed and

demolished; his priests are exiled and murdered; he is ignorant of his

offence, he only feels his misfortune: in the deepest recesses of the

soul that spirit is aroused which remembers its eternal and

imperishable rights, and again war and murder rage; fury excites fury,

life becomes cheap, martyrdom a pleasure; and if there be evil foes,

they look with a scornful and fiendish laugh from the summits of the

mountains down on this hideous massacre, where the very last traces of

love, godly fear, and humility are covered with reeking blood. Do you

mean that it is thus I must be a Christian, in order to justify the

cruelty of my party; or to be a good subject, must I lend a hand to

these executioners of the Marshal? In this case, indeed, is our respect

for the king, as well as our worship of God infinitely different."

Edmond had listened to this long harangue of his father, without

testifying any signs of impatience; at length said he, sighing deeply:

"We are standing then on two opposite shores, a wide stream between

us; I understand your meaning so little, that I even shrink with

fear from it, for according to that, our holy religion may vanish in

the empty folly of every fool, who has the arrogance to set himself up

for a teacher, and just enough ability to mislead the ignorant,

novelty-hunting populace; thus then might indeed the sacred edifice of

the state with its, by heaven itself, consecrated representative sink

into the dust, if every malcontent is permitted to dispute with him

those rights by which the king is king, and if lie finds an opportunity

to rob him of them. Then come chaos and anarchy bringing in their train

the hellish fiends of murder, vengeance, fire, and sword, in order to

destroy and slay the friends of the throne, the nobles and the priests.

Oh! my father, to this only then their doctrine tends. Can my king be

no more to me my visible god on earth, to whom I blindly and

unreservedly submitted my whole heart with all its impulses, can I no

longer believe, that to him alone belongs all responsibility? In this

case I can neither act, nor think. Must my church, for which

innumerable miracles, and thousands of the sublimest spirits speak and

confirm it, yield to contemptible communities of yesterday, out of

whatever corner they creep, who seek with gross deception and delirious

ravings to cover and decorate their pitiful wretchedness;--no, I would

just as soon fly to the unenlightened heathens of the North Pole, and

attach myself to their absurd faith."

"Miracles!" exclaimed the old Lord, "and what then do you call miracles?

the dull eye cannot discern them, just because they are too great and

too mighty. That these poor people, who were perfectly content if they

only had their hardly-earned dry bread, and who in the recesses of

their mountains revered every commander as a deity;--that these should

venture to defy the Intendant, the Marshal with his armies, and even

the king himself;--that these poor, common men were enabled to

sacrifice their wives, their children, and their lives, and die martyrs

for their doctrine: Is this then no miracle? A miserable band without

education, without arms, without having ever seen service, led by young

men, who scarcely know what a sword is, should defeat regular troops

and experienced commanders in more than one battle; and, sometimes too,

one against four: Is that no miracle? How, if these rebels, for such

they are in reality, should desire to found the truth of their doctrine

upon this, what have you to oppose against them?"

"Rather mention too," said Edmond, with bitterness, "their prophets,

their ecstasies, their absurd convulsive contortions, which the young

learn from the old and deceive and grossly lie with the name of God on

their lips."

"My son," said his father, sighing, while he gazed with emotion on the

dark eyes of his son. "In all unrestrained passions man is transformed

into an inexplicable but fearful miracle, then becomes realised and

identified with him, what the wildest fancy itself cannot imagine more

irrational. Let every man beware of this state, still less let him seek

it, as you do, Edmond; your fire will consume you. Go not yonder so

often to the lady of Castelnau: this will nourish your enthusiasm and

destroy you." Edmond quitted the hall abruptly without saying a word.

The old man looked after him, sighed and said to himself, "Ardent love

and bigotry encouraged by an enthusiastic woman what may they not

effect in our times in this poor youth; who knows the misery that is

still before me!"

"For God's sake, my Lord," exclaimed old Frantz, rushing in, "what is

the matter with our son; there he is running up the vineyard without a

hat, and the storm is fast gathering. Oh, if you had but not scolded

him! He will never indeed give up the lady!"

"How do you know," asked the father, "that the conversation related to

her?"

"He ran by me," replied Frantz, "and looked at me with that very

peculiar, fierce expression, which he only has, if any one speaks of

the Lady Christine; then only he stamps his feet; he has thrown down

the apple-tree there, and kicked back his own Hector that was running

after him, which he never does at any other time; some harm will yet

befall our Edmond."

"May God watch over him," said his father; at that moment a flash of

lightning darted from the dark stormy clouds, and cast a singular light

round the vineyards, so violent a clap of thunder immediately

succeeded, that the whole of the great building rocked and creaked.

Hector crouched down by Frantz, and the little Eveline ran into the

hall with her fair locks fluttering behind her, immediately after her

entrance, the rain began to descend in torrents, the herds were seen

everywhere hastily crowding together; the shepherds hallooed to their

flocks, the dogs barked, and in the intervals of the roaring of the

tempest the rustling of the trees was heard; the streams dashed loudly

down the hills and the rain pelted heavily on the roof of the house.

Martha began to chaunt aloud from the upper story; soon after the

trampling of horses and hasty footsteps were heard. The door opened and

three men entered, the foremost of them, who had alighted from his

horse, turned to the proprietor of the house with these words:

"Necessity requires no bidding! the proverb, my Lord Counsellor of

Parliament is quite right, for otherwise I had not ventured to renew a

former acquaintance so unceremoniously: I am the vicar of St. Sulpice,

there beyond St. Hippolite, and take the liberty to beg the shelter of

your roof for a short time in this remote place, against the violence

of the storm."

"You are welcome, my friend," said the Counsellor of Parliament, "as

well as the other gentlemen; you shall have a fire to warm and dry

yourselves, and you will do well to remain here this evening, for the

storm will certainly last until night, as is usually the case in this

neighbourhood."

Frantz and another domestic had already lighted a fire in the large

chimney, and the strangers approached the friendly flames in order to

dry their garments, while the vicar begged the servant to take care of

his nag.

The other two strangers had made their request and testified their

respect for the Counsellor of Parliament only by a silent bow, during

which the little fair girl took advantage of the momentary confusion,

to approach the guests and examine them with curiosity. One of these

appeared to be a huntsman, for he wore a green dress and carried a

couteau-de-chasse and a rifle, the latter, which was loaded, he very

carefully placed on the mantel-piece. During these various proceedings,

Eveline had already in her way formed an acquaintance with the third

stranger, who seemed to be her favorite, for she gave him her

handkerchief to wipe the rain from his face, and offered him some

fruit, which he smilingly declined, and after looking at him for some

time, she said, "Where have you left your hat?" "The storm without has

carried it off from me," said the young stranger, "and blew it far, far

away, so that I could not catch it again."

"It must have been drole enough," said Eveline, laughing, "you after

the hat, the storm after you, and the rain after the storm, you could

not overtake your hat, but the rain and storm overtook you."

The Lord of Beauvais drew near, and said, "You entertain this stranger

already?" "Does he not look good and kind;" exclaimed the child, "just

like the schoolmaster in the village, who teaches me to read, but who

is obliged to limp already with his young, thin legs."

"Behave politely, my child," said the Counsellor kindly, and he put

aside her fair locks from her forehead. He examined his guest while he

was paying the usual compliments. The young stranger appeared to be

about sixteen, or seventeen years of age, he was something below the

middle height, his figure was delicately formed, but as the child had

said, the expression of his countenance was amiability itself. A slight

tinge of red coloured his thin cheeks; his eyes were of the lightest

blue, and had acquired by a mark on the right eye-lid, a very peculiar

expression; short, fair hair lay thick and smooth, over his dazzlingly

pure white forehead: his voice had something effeminate in it from its

high pitch, and from his whole bearing and bashfulness of manner, one

might have easily taken him for a maiden in disguise.

"I came over to day from Pont-du-gard, and intended to proceed to

Montpellier, when this storm overtook me fortunately just in front of

your door, my Lord Counsellor," said the vicar approaching again. "I

must confess, I should not have thought, that there could be such a

building as this aqueduct, if my own eyes had not convinced me of it. I

doubt that the Coloseum at Rome, or the stupendous church of St. Peter

could have produced so great an impression on my mind, as these

majestic, vaulted arches, and these pillars one over the other, which

so boldly and so easily unite two distant mountains."

"Whoever has not yet seen this work of antiquity," said the Counsellor,

"may well consider every report of it exaggerated, and, perhaps,

reverend sir, you will not believe either, that it encreases in

grandeur the oftener one looks at it; the eye cannot familiarize itself

with its magnificence, although its first sight is so highly

satisfactory, and in this contemplation of the sublime, the most

pleasing emotions take possession of us. Thus must it ever be with all

that is truly great," "Those heathenish Romans," said the priest, "have

done much in this respect, they must ever be our teachers; but on my

way here, before the commencement of the storm, I heard a great deal of

firing."

"The Camisards and the royal troops are at it again," said the

huntsman. "But to day, it is said, that the Huguenots have entirely

lost the game." "How so?" demanded the Counsellor.

"I heard on the other side of the water,--thank God, that I am on

this!--that they had taken prisoner Catinat and Cavalier, and therefore

it is probably all over with the war. What a pity, say I, if they

massacre Cavalier, as they have so many others."

"Why a pity?" exclaimed the priest hastily, "what else then does the

rebel deserve? perhaps you are also a follower of the new doctrine?"

"No, reverend sir," said the huntsman, "I was one of the every first

that was converted by these gentlemen dragoons. They came in the name

of the king, and--of him whose bread I eat, whose song I sing--they

were not particularly gentle; thirty in the village were massacred:

'Dog,' said they, 'the pure faith, or die!' why so harsh? said I, I am

not at all prejudiced against the creed, only you might have enforced

it with a little more gentleness. When I saw the execrable man[oe]uvre,

my resolution was quickly formed, and I am now in the service of a

right zealous catholic master, the Intendant of Basville. I only mean

that it is a pity for Cavalier for he is a good fellow, and has already

puzzled many a brave officer."

"That is very true," said the priest a little softened, "he is the only

one among the rebels, who understands how to conduct the affair;

fearless as a lion, generous, ever self-possessed, knowing how to

occupy the best positions, and humane to his prisoners, he is born to

be a hero and a leader, and still more to be admired, for from a

swineherd he rose to greatness. It is through him that I have lost my

vicarage and that I am now making a tour here in Camargue, Nismes, and

Montpellier in order to obtain another appointment."

"How is that sir?" enquired the Counsellor, "mind your own business! as

the saying is, but we do not always follow this wise maxim," replied

the former, "for hot blood and passion, but to often master our reason.

You know that some time since a sort of crusade was preached against

the Camisards in the Cevennes; the young men in Nismes and in the

surrounding country have enlisted as volunteers and lie in wait for the

rebels wherever they can; the hermit of the Cevennes, an old captain,

has taken the field with a troop of rash, desperate fellows and fights

like a Samson; but it is reported that he is very impartial, for, when

an opportunity offers, he treats friends and foes alike, and has

already plundered many an old Catholic, or stretched him in the

trenches. Now, if such things occur, when all the energies are excited

in the melee, it is not so much to be wondered at, though they may

happen a little too frequently; verily he has more deliberately counted

over his rosary than he can now the number of murders he commits. It is

curious enough, that a hermit, who had intended to renounce the world

so entirely, should embark again in such adventures; his old military

ardour is probably aroused within him. I too, retired in my solitary

village in the mountains, when I heard of these proceedings was fired,

or inspired with them, and formed the resolution of also rendering my

poor services to God and the king, my parishoners would not hear of it:

by Jove! they have no heroism in them, they have an antipathy to wounds

and death, or they have secret dealings with the Camisards, as I have

always suspected that satan's brood of it, for much as I have loudly

and zealously harangued them in the pulpit, they almost invariably

slept during my sermon: that they were thus insensible to my loud

exhortations, is alone a proof, that they must have been possessed by

the devil. In pursuance of my design, I assembled some people together,

two Spanish deserters, three Savoyards, five fellows who had escaped

from prison, and two prodigiously bold tinkers. It was at the time,

when Cavalier had so incomprehensively taken the town of Sauve in the

middle of the mountains and laid it under contribution. We marched

directly against them, passing St. Hipolite, for I received intelligence

that this rebel commander had abandoned his corps with a small troop.

We met him just as we issued from a narrow defile in the mountains, I

called to him to surrender; he resisted, bang! I shot a fellow dead,

who was standing by him, I fell upon them with sword and gun and broke

their ranks--sir, it was an epoch in my life, it was as if three

regiments were in my body--shots were fired, I looked back,---there lay

my whole army cut down behind me by a few villains--my courage failed,

I rode off as fast as my horse would carry me, it was the same

hungarian horse, my good sir, now, in your stable,--I am saved.

"Cavalier, as I understand, was a reasonable man, but the knave, who is

called after the late Marshal Catinat, stirred up the others; they

march into my village, persuade my penitents to join them, set fire to

my house and even to my dear dilapidated church, and have sworn to hew

me into ten thousand pieces, if I ever shew myself there again. Now as

I have suffered all this for the sake of my country, it is but just

that reparation should be made to me for the loss I have sustained, and

I am shortly to receive a better living with a good Catholic Christian

community herein the neighbourhood of Nismes. Thus was my chivalrous

expedition terminated; but I have sworn, that wherever I see but one,

or more of these murderous dogs--were there a hundred, to make them

feel my vengeance."

The Counsellor turned with indignation from the priest and his

countenance brightened as Edmond, in a different dress, entered the

hall. "This is witch's weather," said he, and kissed his father's hand,

which the latter held out to him kindly. He then mingled with the

company and soon entered into conversation with the loquacious priest.

"As I was saying," recommenced the latter in his clamorous manner,

"these numskulls have something quite peculiar and incomprehensible in

them. Even the children, urchins of three years old, pretend to exhort

and preach atonement, they can speak as familiarly of every sin, as if

they had long ago gone through the whole catalogue of them, this is a

well known fact; moreover, it frequently happens, that these devil's

nurslings even prophecy, and most of them speak in good and distinct

French about what probably they have never heard in their lives--this

may be explained by all who like explanations, some say, that they are

in a fit, others that they are possessed with the devil, those of their

own party take it for inspiration. Above there in Alais, some hundreds

of them assemble, great and small, old and young, prophecying among one

another, that the walls of their prison might be broken down. The

medical college of Montpellier has transferred itself thither, each

doctor has taken with him his hat and cloak; I believe they have also

carried with them the antique mantle of Rabelais, in order to be quite

perfect in their art. I hear they have now observed, discoursed,

disputed, calculated, speculated, deduced, and what is the result? that

we are as wise as before. These learned gentlemen declare, that it

cannot be taken for divine inspiration because it is opposed to the

king and the clergy; and still less can they be possessed by the devil,

in as much as they speak and sing only spiritual things and do not as

yet know the ways of that gentleman, neither, say they, could it

proceed from fits, or any other bodily infirmity, but it was to them

something quite unheard of and new; it may well be termed new, and,

therefore, must appropriately be called fanaticism and the people

denominated fanatics." "There may be many things," interrupted the

huntsman hastily, "that are inexplicable; with your reverence's

permission, my opinion is, that they are all bewitched; for, if you

have no objection, that is the easiest explanation of the matter;

therefore, there is no such great injustice in burning them--always

excepting Mr. Cavalier, for whom I should be very sorry--and the reason

which might tolerate such proceedings is, that they may not by degrees

infect the whole community, for it is very evident that the evil is

spreading daily and is communicated from one to the other. Witchcraft

is just as much something corporeal as well as spiritual, something

visible as well as invisible, and not only men, but also houses,

mountains and rivers may be enchanted; I have experienced this myself

in the course of my life."

"And how?" enquired the Counsellor. "Do you not know the wide-spreading

ash, which stands in the field between the castle of Castelnau and

the town of Alais? at no great distance from that is the large, old

olive-tree, which, they say, is three, or four hundred years old, but

it is so far certain, that both the trees, particularly the ash, may be

seen at the distance of many miles from the plain as well as from the

mountains."

"I know both these trees very well," said Edmond.

"Now," continued the huntsman, "under the ash it is not safe. While I

was yet a boy in the service of the father of the present lady of

Castelnau, who almost always resided at Alais, for the castle was

thought to be too lonely for her, I went out as I often did, to shoot

hares: It was towards evening and a storm like that of to-day overtook

me, I sought shelter under the great ash to escape getting wet through,

but scarcely had I leaned against the trunk, gracious sir, than I was

seized with indescribable agitation and fear, my heart began to beat, a

tremor came over me, I was terrified--I was compelled to quit my

shelter--I was wet through--I returned, and again the same sensations

under the tree; it was not permitted to me to remain there, I was

obliged to go into the open space while the rain was falling as if

heaven and earth would come together. The next morning it was bright

midday and summer weather, said I to myself, dolt! wert thou frightened

because it was dark, perhaps thou wert terrified at the claps of

thunder; wilt thou become a noble huntsman if thou hast such little

heart,--so I went half laughing under the tree, I fancied myself

sleeping under its shade,--but no such thing! I was seized with greater

terror and agitation than ever, my teeth chattered and an icy coldness

chilled me, I fled from the spot.--I mentioned the circumstance to an

old forester: 'Fool!' said he, 'have not the huntsmen told you that the

tree permits no one to stand under it?' It is an old story. He could

not tell me the reason of this, but warned me not to play any tricks

with it. However, I did not follow his advice, but returned to it with

a young lad. To him it was productive of evil, for he became sick unto

death with the fright; since that time, I avoid the tree and so does

every one who knows it. It must have been bewitched some time or

other."

"Heaven only knows, what may be the meaning of all this," began the

priest, "we live at least in times when events occur, which formerly

would have been deemed impossible. Now there is something

incomprehensible in these prophecying children. It was said, some years

ago, that here, and there, in the Cevennes, in Dauphine, and in the

neighbouring Beauvarais that such things were practised, and people

travelled to hear and see them. At present whole villages are full of

them, they are to be seen in the market-places, in the public houses

and like the diseases, incidental to childhood formerly, it seems that

all children must undergo the gift of prophecy. Government has thus

sharply reprimanded them, by making the parents responsible, thrown

those into prison and sending the fathers to the galleys, for it was

conjectured that from these alone proceeded the delusion. A peasant,

one of my parishoners, came to me, saying 'for God's sake sir, help me!

my little girl, six years old, began yesterday to prophecy, I am a dead

man if the thing becomes known; my wife and I are certainly of the true

faith as you can testify, but now they will arrest us as rebels, as

they have done to so many others.'

"Only use the whip," said I, "let the girl hunger and she will soon

forget to prophecy. 'All that has been tried, reverend sir,' groaned

the old man, 'and more than my conscience will justify; the child is

ill from my ill-treatment, for as soon as she begins to prophecy, or to

sing psalms, which she has never heard from me, I have chastised her

severely; I have not given her a morsel of bread for three days, yet

she does not give up, but goes on still worse. Come, I pray, to my

house and see yourself; if she is possessed by a devil, you can

conjure, is it any thing else, you can exhort.' I had never seen such

prophecying creatures, I went therefore out of curiosity with the old

man. As we entered the house, the child was sitting at a spinning

wheel, she was pale and thin, and seemed half silly, she complained of

hunger and pain. I can see nothing in the child, said I, 'oh, if she

was always reasonable like that,' exclaimed the peasant. Presently the

worm was seized with a sobbing in the throat: 'there we have the gift,'

said the old man, 'the disorder is breaking out now--exorcise, reverend

sir!' as the little creature was thus struggling, her body dilated, she

fell on the ground, her bosom throbbed and heaved, and suddenly we

heard as it were quite a strange tone, which did not belong to the

child. 'I tell thee, my child, if thy parents repent and follow the

spirit, all will be right and good, and thou shalt partake of liberty

and of my word.' I was terrified, especially as the devil spoke as pure

French as the child of persons of rank; I sprinkled her with holy

water, I vehemently conjured that the devil, if it was one, might come

out of her; all in vain, the little thing cried out, 'I tell you, the

idolaters shall not prevail against you, and this evil one shall find

the reward of his misdeeds,' thereby meaning myself: the unfortunate

child, because I was so zealous in my calling; then followed

exhortation and singing, and pure fear of God and admonition to

repentance. I could scarcely do it better myself: she then arose and

seemed just as miserable and foolish as before. I cannot help you, said

I to my penitent, you see that the word of God and holy water have no

effect on her; hunger and chastisement just as little, nor has your

persuasion, nor the fear of rendering you unhappy had any weight with

her, leave it to herself. In short, the child ate and drank again, and

became more zealous than ever in preaching repentance; so that at

length the father was converted, or, at least, he ran to the mountains

to the Camisards, and said: 'if he were to be punished, or executed, he

should at least know wherefore.' Thus you see, I lost many penitents

the preceding year, for when they have drawn suspicion on themselves,

they prefer becoming rebels to avoid suffering anxiety, ill-treatment,

and even death without a cause, as one may say. The case of the

shepherd from my adjoining village is still more singular. He was a

wild, reckless fellow, and as strong in the right faith as need be

wished; he had already delivered more than one Camisard and suspected

person up to the executioner. He came running to me one morning at a

very early hour, crying out, 'Help, help, reverend sir!' 'what is the

matter now,' said I, 'have the Camisards set fire to your house, as

they have always threatened to do, on account of your zeal?' 'Ah, much

worse, much worse,' cried the knave, wringing his brown, bony hands.

'Speak out shepherd,' said I, 'Do you know,' he began, 'my son, the

tall Michael,--who does not know the lanky looby--he is known to almost

all the mountaineers, it is indeed the cross of your house, that the

idiot is so useless: he will neither work, nor mind the herds; he is so

stupid, that he is scarcely considered a member of the church, yet he

often enough disturbs the congregation; he is only fit to carry

burdens, and prefers living with the dogs, which he frequents as if

they were his equals: Is he departed this transitory life? rejoice, for

you have one burden less.' 'It is not that indeed,' exclaimed the old

man, incensed, 'Oh, I should not grieve for that: But think, who in the

world would have supposed that the long broom-stick would have become a

prophet?' 'How?' cried I, my mouth and eyes wide open with amazement;

'so, a blockhead, who is good for nothing else in the world, may become

one of their prophets?' I went therefore with the old man, but the

affair turned out still more strangely. As we entered the house, the

thin, bony man was just in the act of prophecying, speaking in a pure

dialect about the deliverance of France, of liberty, of faith, of better

times, encouraging them to fight. I tried to pray, and to exorcise, but

the father seized his great shepherd's stick, brandished it over him,

so that he would have killed him, had I not stopped his arm. We then

listened for a short time, and what ensued? suddenly something gurgled

in the old man's throat, he groaned, turned up his eyes, fell against

the wall and then on the ground, and after a few mighty heavings of the

breast, he too began; he sang psalms, exhorted to repentance,

prophecied the fall of Babel; nothing could equal it: as the old one

sang, the young one twittered; I thought I was bewitched, my priestly

vestments fell from my hands, I could only listen to those two

possessed ones, who were howling out pure piety, and texts from the

Bible, and as I gazed at the astounding wonder with agitation and fear,

I felt a shock through all my limbs, and sir, as true as heaven is

above us, a desire arose within me to be seized with similar fits, and

to take a part in this unhappy affair. I rushed out into the open,

blessed air of heaven. I thought on all dignitaries, of my bishop, of

the great church and organ of Montpellier, of the letter which I

possessed from the murdered Abbot of Chably, of our illustrious Marshal

of Montrevel, of his dress-uniform, and of such things,--and God be

praised, the trembling left my body, and I am now a reasonable man and

a christian priest again. Ever since that time, I look upon the whole

affair with terror. Be it witchcraft, that they are possessed with

devils, bodily and infectious diseases, or the unknown, new fanaticism

of the learned doctors, I have at least discovered that mankind is

easily entrapped, and that the Spaniard is right with his proverb: 'No

man can say of this water I will not drink.' The two shepherd knaves

have now also run into the wilds after Cavalier, and have become great

heroes of the faith."

The old Counsellor had gone out frequently during these details to give

orders to the domestics, who had in the mean while laid the table and

prepared the evening repast. "My unknown friends," said the old

gentleman affably, "with whose company chance and the bad weather have

so unexpectedly honoured me, and who are to me,--with the exception of

the reverend priest,--total strangers, let us all sociably and without

ceremony take our places at this table, eat and drink, and afterwards

enjoy a refreshing sleep under my roof." Edmond looked up, and could

scarcely believe at first that his father was in earnest; the priest

cast an expressive glance at the huntsman and one of still deeper

meaning at the young man, and smiled as if to hint, that he at all

events should withdraw from this distinguished circle, among which he

himself only had any claim to remain; but the little Eveline hung on

the young man's arm and drew him by her side to the table where he

immediately sat down with her the first without waiting for farther

bidding. "Quite right," said the Counsellor, "No ceremony if you wish

to please me! here are no invited guests, we meet together as if we

were on board a ship or in a wood. I must render you all this

hospitality without distinction." Edmond blushing, placed himself at

the head of the table by his father, the priest seated himself opposite

to him, by the side of the latter sat the huntsman, who left a large

space between himself and his neighbour, and then came Eveline and her

playfellow as he almost appeared. "Quite patriarchal," said the priest,

"those men there, my worthy sir, will not forget to publish throughout

the country, your philanthropy and contempt of prejudices."

At this moment the veil of clouds in the horizon burst asunder, the sun

in its descent suddenly threw a purple glow over the lowering sky, a

red fire spread itself over the mountain-vineyards, tree and bush, and

vinetendril sparkled in the fiery ray, beyond the woods shone

brilliantly, and as the eye glanced upwards, the summits of the distant

Cevennes were seen glowing in the rosy light; on the left, the

waterfall rushed like blood from the steep rock, and the whole hall,

the table, and the guests, all was as if bathed in blood, so that the

lights just then burned darkly and the fire in the chimney emitted a

blue flame. The rain had ceased, a holy silence reigned throughout all

nature, not a leaf rustled, the red brook only flowed splashingly

along, and the glowing waterfall murmured its melody. The old

Counsellor's eyes were cast upwards as if in fervent prayer, and a tear

glistened in his full eye; the fair young man laid down his knife and

fork and folded his hands; the huntsman glanced timidly from under his

heavy eyebrows; the priest tried to assume a sanctified look; the child

playfully clapped her hands, and Edmond was lost in silent reflection.

Just as quickly as it was withdrawn, the curtain fell again over the

horizon and extinguished its light, upon which the Counsellor said,

"was not this like an emblem of our country and of our misfortunes? as

necessity unites us all and brings us together, and as the misery that

oppresses us, if I may so express myself, becomes as it were sanctified

and endeared to us? all our countrymen pass through this baptism of

blood, may heaven have pity on us." Edmond cast an expressive look on

his father and then glanced furtively at the huntsman and the young

stranger, as if to intimate, that such thoughts should not have been

expressed in their presence; the old man smiled kindly on his son, but

did not even try to conceal his feelings.--

"Papa," cried Eveline, "it was as if the sky wished to play at hide and

seek with us, just as little Dorothea with her plump, rosy cheeks

smiles upon me and then, whisk! creeps under the cloth again."

"It was like a bleeding world crying for succour," exclaimed the

fair-haired young man. Edmond cast a sidelong glance at him, and said,

"It is perhaps the extinction of the nefarious revolt!"

"May be so," replied the youth, and raised his blue, child-like eyes to

Edmond, "but I think that everything rests in the hands of the Supreme

Being."

"Most assuredly," said Edmond sharply, "and the evil would have ceased

long since if so much disaffection, secret abettance, and malicious joy

at the misfortunes of the king had not reigned among the common

people."

"Every reasonable person must own however," said the young man with a

melancholy smile, "that the evil did not originate with the people;

they were quiet, and although others may suffer, their miseries are

beyond expression."

The priest left off eating with astonishment, that the little unseemly

man should have the last word with the master of the house opposite to

him; he rolled his eyes up and down as if seeking for some astounding

words of reproof; the little girl pressed the hands of her new friend

for engaging in dispute with Edmond, and the latter as his father

already began to testify his uneasiness at his son's violence, turned

away with an expression of profound contempt, saying, "I know not with

whom I speak, but I think I have some knowledge of you; are you not the

son of the late Huguenot sexton of Besere close by?"

"No, gracious sir," answered the young man perfectly unembarrassed, "I

have not the honour of being known to you; I am now come to this

neighbourhood for the first time, to make some purchases, my name is

Montan, or simply William, as I am called by the neighbours and by my

father, who is owner of the mill in the deep valley beyond Saumiere."

"Therefore a praiseworthy miller's lad!" said the priest. "It was not

sung to you in your cradle that you should ever sit at table in such

company as this." "No, indeed," said the miller with emotion; "when I

stood before the house, I thought not to find a reception as from the

venerable patriarchs we read of in the Holy Scriptures, I did not

expect to be introduced to a nobleman, who, to my mind and imagination,

presents the most sublime picture of Abraham and Jacob." He wiped his

eyes, and as they were about to rise from table, he lifted his glass,

and said, "pray allow me first, honoured sirs, to empty this glass in

token of my most heartfelt gratitude, and to the unalloyed happiness of

our respected host, and the endless prosperity of his noble house." He

drank, and the old Lord bowed not without emotion, while Edmond and the

priest looked at each other long and enquiringly. The huntsman scraped

and smiled, and the priest in his astonishment forgot to drink.

They rose from table, and Eveline seated herself again by the side of

her favorite in a corner of the room, and said to him, "That is the

right way, he is too haughty if one allows him to go on."

Her father approached them, "my child, it is now quite time for you to

retire to bed." "Indeed papa," answered she kissing his hand, "I should

like to remain longer here, but there must be order, as you always say;

I am obedient and will be your comfort, shall I not? it would indeed be

very wicked, and I should vex you, if I turned a prophet like so many

other children in this country." "God bless you, my love," said the old

man resting his hand upon her head; "go to bed, and you, my friend, sit

down here and rest yourself some time longer," said he, pressing the

young miller's hand; when Eveline perceived her father's kindness

towards him, she quickly returned, and throwing herself on the neck of

the young man, kissed him repeatedly, then drawing back a little, she

curtsied gracefully, and in a lady-like manner, and waving her hand,

said: "Au revoir," and followed the domestic who consigned her to her

maid.

"As you are from Saumiere," said the priest, turning to the miller,

"You are surely acquainted with the hermit, who is now the leader of a

troop against the Camisards?" "Oh, I know him very well," replied the

youth, "his cell is in a rocky valley, which is separated from our mill

only by a stony fence; we often visited him on holidays, when the

valley was passable on our side; he is a tall, athletic man, with a

grizly beard and large, grey eyes; he seemed peaceable and quiet until

the war made him a soldier again. Unheard of cruelties are asserted to

have been committed by him; he is said not to know what compassion is,

and must take pleasure in murder; but now his trade is over." "Is he

dead?" enquired the Counsellor. "No, not exactly that," continued the

young man, "but I heard a report on the Vidourla, that he was totally

defeated yesterday by Cavalier, and that, if he consults his own

advantage, he will creep into a cell, for the common people will not

surely trust to him again, when they perceive that he does not

understand his business."

"He has been a captain, however," said the huntsman.

"The combat against the rebels," said the priest, "is a difficult

affair, for _that_ courage and the ordinary discipline of a soldier do

not suffice; our Marshal Montrevel would perhaps prefer fighting

against Eugene and Marlborough than with these rag-o-muffins."

More wood was now piled on the fire. The father sat down, while Edmond

paced up and down the hall in visible inquietude, the priest drew his

chair towards the Counsellor, and said: "You are suffering from the

gout in your left foot, my lord."

"Why do you conclude so?" asked the old gentleman, "the leg does not

appear to me swoln, although you have guessed rightly."

"The swelling," continued the priest, "is certainly almost

imperceptible; but you often step lighter and more gently with this

foot, probably without being conscious of it, perhaps this joint is a

little contracted in proportion to the right, and therefore has not the

strength of the latter."

"That is very critically observed," said the Counsellor.

"My honoured sir," continued the priest, "it is incredible how

consistent and reasonable nature is in all her productions. To analyse

her in her minutest parts is instructive, however ridiculous it may

appear to the unpractised. More than a century ago, the Neapolitan, De

la Porte, wrote an excellent book on physiognomy comparing the human

and the brutal together; in the earlier ages people tried to read on

the countenance the virtues, vices, and qualities of the disposition:

Believe me, if I could devote my leisure hours to this subject, I am

confident I should carry it so far as to be able to discover from a

shoe, or a boot, that had been worn for a time, many faults or

peculiarities of its possessor."

"Really?" said the old Lord smiling, "They betray themselves by the

garments, when closely examined; the hasty, or irresolute gait, the

shuffling of the feet, the gliding step of ladies, are certainly very

expressive; a certain nonchalant manner of walking, a haughty tread of

the heel, an affected, frivolous sliding on tip toe, the indecisive

tottering footstep, by which the shoe loses its shape, excepting the

qualities which however demonstrate themselves by the high, or low

instep, or by the flatness of the foot. But now for the legs; if these

were exhibited in their natural state, it would be scarcely possible to

mistake the rank, profession, and way of life; then there are tailor's

and baker's legs, which it is impossible not to recognise, foot and

cavalry soldier's legs, weaver's and joiner's legs, and so on."

"These are very interesting observations," said the Counsellor, "would

you, for instance, venture to declare the former manner of life of my

Frantz by his legs?"

"By my legs?" exclaimed the old servant, who was still busied in

clearing away. "Here they are, reverend sir."

"Stoop a little--now go yonder--come back again--stand perfectly

upright--my Lord Counsellor, I could swear that your Frantz has been in

his youth, nay at a later period of life, a mariner."'

The servant looked at the priest astounded, and the Lord of Beauvais

said: "You have hit it, my reverend friend; but from what do you draw

your conclusion?"

"No mariner," said the priest "ever loses entirely the straggling and

somewhat stooping gait which he has acquired on shipboard, he sinks his

loins in walking, and a slight limp remains for the rest of his life."

When the other servant approached, the priest immediately cried out,

"Give yourself no further trouble, one can see at the distance of a

gun-shot, that the good man has been a tailor in his youth, and that he

certainly pursues the same occupation now, for the bent shins clearly

demonstrate it." "You follow the chase," turning to the huntsman who

was standing; "it must be so, although I should rather have taken you

for a soldier, and from the eye, for a smuggler; by the bye, what is

the matter with your right knee? it certainly is not from attending

mass, from whence then does this slight protuberance proceed? perhaps

you have acquired the strange habit of falling on your right knee when

you shoot?"

"Reverend sir," exclaimed the huntsman, "you must be a bit of a wizard

yourself, for you have hit the mark. From my youth upwards I have never

been able to shoot but in a kneeling position; should a hare run by

under my nose, I cannot hit it standing, I must first throw myself

down; but I have always been much ridiculed by my companions for it."

"For the rest," resumed the priest, "you have mountain-legs, and you

must have been born in the Cevennes, or the Pyrenees, your eye too is

characteristic of the mountaineer who is far-sighted."

"Just so," said the huntsman, "I come from Lozere, the wildest part of

the mountains."

"Well, my young friend," said the connoisseur in legs, turning to the

young lad,--"You pretend to be a miller and want miller's legs, how

does that happen? observe, that from carrying sacks, the miller's back

is early bent and becomes broad and round, but the principal weight

presses upon the calves of the legs, the sinews of the hams become

disproportionately strong; but with you these are precisely the weakest

parts, the ancles too are not large enough: here, _summa summarum_

fails the miller's character, for my science cannot deceive."

"In this I cannot assist you, sir," said the young man petulantly, "for

I am what I am, and will remain so."

"For my part," quickly rejoined the critic, "I desire not to press too

closely on your miller's honour, you may probably be a spoilt,

effeminate mother's darling, who would not suffer you to be too heavily

laden, your hair and whole countenance have a mealy character, your

voice too sounds like the wheat-bell and the mill-hopper, but when I

look at your knees, they seem to me to be those of a baker, which are

turned in from shoving the bread into the oven and taking it out again;

during this process he is obliged to keep in a stooping position and

rests upon his knees; but I discover the strangest contradiction in

your thighs, for they are those of a horseman and of one who rides

much, your eye too betrays a martial spirit, it darts here and there

and is never quiet as a miller's ought to be, who is attentive to his

business; in short, you are to me in your legs and in your whole person

a very puzzling youth."

The young man reddened with resentment and the Counsellor endeavoured

to turn the entire affair into merriment and laughter,--when the whole

party was suddenly alarmed by a violent knocking at the front door of

the house, that aroused even Edmond from his reverie. "For God's sake

let me in," roared a voice loudly from without, "open to me in the name

of heaven!"

At a sign from the Counsellor, who quickly recovered from his surprise,

the servants rushed forward, the company looked at one another in

silence, the bolts were withdrawn, and the tread of heavy footsteps was

heard approaching the hall; the doors were thrown open, and lighted by

the servants, a tall, powerfully-built figure with grey hair and

moustaches of the same hue entered, he held in his hand a massive

staff, that without exaggeration might be termed a club; a long, broad

sword trailed clanging after him, and four pistols were stuck, in a

black leather girdle. On his entrance he approached the host, and said

in a deep, sonorous voice, "Pardon me, my lord, the alarm I must have

caused you, I was benighted, pursued and in danger, therefore I

ventured, certainly rather unceremoniously, to claim the shelter of

your house."

"Oh heavens, it is the terrible hermit!" exclaimed the miller in a

hoarse voice, "I am he, indeed," replied the gigantic figure, "but why

terrible, my young simpleton? I may surely be permitted to show my face

every where, presumptuous fellow; and I have shown it before other

physiognomies than yours.--Your pardon! Sir Baron, if I give way to my

displeasure at the presumption of this hireling. Yes, reverend sir, I

am he, who under the name of the hermit is not unknown in this part of

the country; in this character I wished to do homage to my God, but an

envious fate thwarts me. To-day my troop has been entirely dispersed,

and I have only saved my own life through the greatest exertions, for I

was pursued even in the darkness of the night; my enemies cannot be far

off, my life is forfeited, if you refuse me your protection."

"All I possess," said the Counsellor, "is at your service, my house, my

servants and myself will protect you as far as we are able,

independently of the claims of humanity; my duty to my king and country

demand this."

"You are an honourable man," replied the giant, "such as I had every

reason to expect."--At his invitation, he sat down by the side of the

master of the house to partake of the wine and refreshments, which the

servants placed before him. "I hope," said he, "that the storm and

sudden fall of night have prevented them from tracing my route, but

every moment of this day has been a perilous one to me. Yonder, on the

right at Nages, the body of Camisards has been totally defeated; as I

passed the Vidourla to give the rout to my enemies, I met a flying

detachment of them, who, instead of showing any fear, assembled

together, and fell upon me like so many devils; their number was not

great, but it seemed as if they were aided by magic, a panic seized my

people; they crowded together, they reached the Vidourla, the furious

foes behind them. At that moment the storm burst forth, the waters

rushed down from the mountains and swelled the rapid mountain-stream to

a fearful height, it overflowed its banks, and I saw the dead, the

wounded, and the living ingulphed in the waters; I swang myself upon a

tree, and from that to a barren rock; more than a hundred muskets were

levelled at me, my double-barrelled gun aided me as much as possible,

but my sword was useless, the storm threatened to hurl me down, I tried

to ascend in spite of the wind and the rushing waters, the rock, from

incessant washing, had become slippery as ice, but at length I

succeeded in gaining a footing in the midst of the rolling floods, I

crept up higher, my steps illumined by the dazzling lightning, and the

flashing from the enemy's guns, while the balls wizzed round me: Thus I

arrived at a vineyard: I was compelled to scale the wall, on the other

side I found two daring fellows, who had climbed over there before me,

they fell beneath my sword, I entered a wood, and soon found myself

standing upon a level rock, but without track or foot-path, neither

road nor bridge was to be seen, precipices yawned below me; must I go

back, or down! I slid down, the darkness prevented me from

distinguishing anything; after repeated falls, I felt some shrubs under

me, a huge shepherd's dog of the most ferocious species attempted to

drag me down, there was no herdsman to be seen, or within call, I was

compelled to wrestle with the fierce animal; night had now entirely

closed in, I thought I heard the sound of bells, I groped my way

towards the place from whence the sounds proceeded; soon afterwards I

heard men's voices; are they friends or foes? while I was advancing

with cocked pistols and drawn sword,--'Who's there?' suddenly grated

upon my ears; I discovered they were the Camisards; as I gave no

answer, they fired, and by the flashing I perceived distinctly ten of

my foes standing at the opening of a ravine; no choice was left me, I

advanced, the first fell, shot by my pistol, a second was cut down by

my sword, the obscurity of the ravine favoured me, nothing remained but

to fly, as quick as age and exhaustion would permit, they shouted and

fired after me; at length I perceived I had attained a high road, the

flashing from the fire-aims discovered to me a porch, something

appeared in the distance like barns and buildings, I ran in that

direction, and at last I reached the door of your house."

"Sir captain," said the Counsellor, "repose is necessary to your old

age after this exertion and fatigue, lie down, and the safety, which my

house is capable of affording, I again assure you, shall be faithfully

granted to you."

"May heaven reward you," said the captain; "I look upon this untoward

adventure as a hint of fate, warning me to lay down my arms, I shall do

so, and return to a cell, or a cloister. Had Cavalier been with the

troop, I should not have escaped him, for he possesses the utmost

presence of mind, he is the boldest and indeed the most soldierly among

the rebels."

"It is said that he is taken prisoner," observed the huntsman.

"The war is over then," exclaimed the hermit, "for, without him, they

can undertake nothing; this powerful man is alone the soul of their

venturous enterprise. The others understand well enough how to kill and

to die, but not how to conduct the war. I wish he had died; for should

he be taken prisoner, his fate will be one worthy of commiseration."

During this discourse, the priest, who had until then considered

himself of so much importance, now felt lost and dwindled to nothing by

the side of the so far greater adventurer. He would willingly have

testified his veneration for him by an embrace, or, at least, by a

grasping of the hand, but he dared not venture to approach one, whose

wrath was so easily excited by any degree of familiarity. The tall man

paced up and down the hall, examining all present with a scrutinising

look: "Two servants, perhaps, moreover a valet and a huntsman," he

muttered to himself, but loud enough to be heard, "will not indeed be

capable of offering much resistance, the house is by no means fortified

in case of an attack, then the young lord here, a sort of sportsman,

the black one also in case of necessity to engage the enemy, but that

chicken-hearted one, (looking penetratingly at the young miller) that

downy-faced fellow is quite useless. May God forbid, we should be put

to so severe a test." He now, as well as the others, paid their parting

compliments to the Counsellor, as they were retiring for the night;

they were lighted to their apartments by the domestics, and Edmond

alone remained in the hall with his father. The rain had ceased, but

the night was dark and the sky was covered with lowering clouds. The

father and son walked up and down for some time in silence; at length

the Counsellor said: "will you not retire to rest my son?" "I am still

too much agitated and did you not hear, that our last guest feared we

should perhaps have to receive another unexpected visit?"--Silence

ensued, but Edmond after a pause recommenced: "Forgive me, my father,

if I confess, that I have not understood you to-day, that I have not

recognised in you the same person as formerly. That you received these

people and sheltered them from the storm, was natural enough, but how

it could be conformable to your disposition, (or what shall I call it)

to suffer them to eat at your table without distinction, I cannot

explain to myself. Often already have our people entertained menials;

and what countenance shall I assume when this squinting huntsman shall

wait upon me again at the table of the Lord of Basville, I know not;

and what will the Intendant and the Marshal, who certainly must hear of

it, think, or say? How shall I explain it to myself, that you received

that miller's boy not only with kindness and condescension, but yet

with hearty familiarity? who is even too low to be your menial, that

you allow my sister, who is always too forward to play and romp with

him?"

"My son," said the old man with some emotion, "it seems indeed, that,

the older I become, the less capable do I feel of justifying myself to

you: I might say, accustom yourself to my ways, as I must through

affection bear with yours, though I misunderstand them so often. You

must certainly excuse me, as you did not explain yourself before, our

conversation to-day had made so deep an impression on me, indeed, such

as I have not experienced for a long time. In my emotion I forgot to

attend to the usual etiquette of life, and as I could not avoid

entertaining the priest at our own table, I added the two other poor

fellows, but as to that miller, who has more particularly drawn upon

himself your hatred and contempt, his child-like countenance and frank,

open manners, in my opinion, did more honour to my table, than your

Marshal Montrevel could ever do. Accident, the weather brought us

together; the times are also so changed that we do not yet know, but we

ourselves may be compelled to sue for refuge among the most miserable.

But as you so despise that youth, I still less comprehend that you

should honour him so highly as to argue with him, nay, to seek yourself

for a dispute; for the future interfere not with my ways."

They sat down and as Edmond was silent, the Counsellor said, after a

pause: "What do you think then of this priest and his manners? such as

these, you see, are appointed to direct and instruct the people, the

unfortunate people! these became combatants and murderers like this

colossus. That my house is compelled to shelter such, that is it indeed

which humbles me. All champions for a good cause may not be

individually good," said Edmond.

"Retire to rest now, my son," said the Counsellor kindly, "I shall sit

up some time longer, I am too disturbed to be able to sleep, I shall

read yet a little while, rest will then ensue with cooler blood."

Edmond embraced his father, and then retired to his chamber. The old

man gazed sorrowfully after him, and thought upon his son's future

destiny; he sunk into a deep and melancholy reverie, no where did hope,

or comfort seem to await him. He took up his book in order to calm the

perturbation of his spirit, he tried to collect himself; he reflected

upon the wonderful disposition of the mind, to divert itself by that

which is most profound, in order to escape from its own appropriate

feelings, and to be itself again in the inward sanctuary of the spirit.

Thus without reading Plato, which he had laid open before him, he

became more and more absorbed in a contemplative investigation on the

double nature of the soul and of the mind, that reflects on itself and

comprehends its nature and property, which, in thought, at the same

time, views, and proving it, ponders upon this thought, being at once

actor and spectator, and being only at this moment truly conscious of

itself. He did not know how long he might have indulged in these

reflections; when raising his eyes, he was surprised to see his son by

his side. "You are still here, Edmond?" said he wondering. "No, my

father," whispered the son, "I have reposed quite two hours, but just

now when I awoke, I heard under the window a whispering and a movement

as of many men, I approached, but could distinguish nothing, however,

it seemed to me, as if people were gathering round our house, I have

loaded in haste all our fire-arms, and quietly awakened the domestics.

The strangers are still asleep, but they must now assist in our

defence."

"If it be so, and that you have not been mistaken," said the father,

"promise me only not to be too eager; let us be quiet and collected,

for thereby one may be often enabled to prevent the worst, but I well

know, by experience, that from the love of danger and fiery courage,

which as easily defeat their object as cowardice, misfortune and

destruction may be drawn down upon us. We must not venture alone, you

must not forget your little sister. Now do I wish, that I had been a

soldier, that I might meet this invasion with serenity, should it come

to this, but we shall do what honour demands of us; but more than the

danger itself do I fear your hastiness." In the mean while a murmur and

the approach of footsteps were heard nearer; several voices were

distinguished, a noise proceeded from the road and garden, so that it

appeared, that they were taking possession of all the outlets.

Immediately afterwards a knocking was heard at the door. The servants

drew near, but at a mute signal from their master they remained

tranquil; immediately the tumult became louder and several voices

raised an unintelligible cry, Edmond grew warm, his father looked at

him significantly; but soon, however, the name of the hermit resounded

clearly and distinctly from out of the confused murmur. "They demand

him," cried Edmond; "They are the Camisards!" The cry was repeated,

they knocked louder, they became even noisy, the screams of women and

the cries of children were now also heard; the Counsellor caused all

the weapons to be brought forward, he was hastily distributing them to

the servants, when trembling and ghastly pale the tall figure of the

hermit, half dressed, tottered in, followed by the priest, bewildered

and terrified; both seized the hand of their host, and while they were

firing without, the knocking at the door and demands for the hermit

became more violent. "Oh, heaven! compassion!" exclaimed the latter,

"thou hast heard my oath, that I would in future refrain from blood,

but it is too late, I am a victim to their vengeance!" With these words

the tremendous figure fell senseless to the ground in utter despair!

the child rushed into the hall with her maid; terrified and crying

aloud she threw herself into her father's arms; the latter tried to

comfort her, but one could see in his pale countenance, that he himself

entertained but little hope. "I will protect you as long as I can,"

cried he, "but the multitude appears too great to allow of my defending

the house." Fire! fire! cried a hundred voices from without at the same

time, and lighted fire brands were seen through the windows! at that

moment the door was shaken, by large trees, which were thrown against

it like battering rams. "Oh heavens!" cried the priest, while his teeth

chattered, "had I but the tenth part of my former courage,--but I am

not at all prepared for this, I have slept a little already, which has

completely relaxed my spirit." He took off his hat, "how impolite I

am!" sighed he, but it was almost laughable, even in that moment, that

under this he still wore his night-cap, without being aware of it, and

in wandering about in every corner of the hall, he carried his hat in

his hand. The huntsman now stole in, took his loaded gun from the

shelf, and placed himself quietly by the chimney; "whither are you

going" exclaimed Edmond, "out with the rifle, you must all defend

yourselves!" "Impossible," stammered the man, "give up the old villain,

otherwise the whole house is lost, I know the Camisards." "Scoundrel!"

thundered the young man--"where is the miller? Still in bed? all of

you, you miserable varlets, shall defend this place with me, nay, even

that weak, effeminate boy shall make common cause with us."

"The hermit was praying on the ground, all were shouting confusedly

in the hall, but no word was heard distinctly; all was confounded

with the storm, which every moment became more violent without. The

window-frames were demolished, the door cracked and appeared to give

way, when, with an apparent air of indifference, the young miller

entered, carelessly tying his neckerchief and said: 'Let me out by the

back-door, I will speak to the enraged multitude,--quick, give me the

key!' These last words were uttered in a tone of command. The old Lord

looked at him, took the key from the wall, and opened the door to him

himself, the youth went round to the other side of the house. Edmond

posted himself with a loaded gun opposite the door, in order to fire

among the assailants, in case they succeeded in forcing an entrance.

Suddenly a tremendous shout was raised, which seemed like acclamations

of joy and was reiterated by the crowds surrounding the house. Then all

was still; and after a while a deep voice exclaimed: 'He must come out

the assassin, on this spot he shall be torn to pieces!' 'Merciful God,'

cried the hermit from the ground, where he still lay, 'that is the

terrible Catinat, who knows no compassion!'--after a few words

exchanged among them, the high and almost hoarse voice of the youth was

heard. 'Silence all,' cried he vehemently: nothing more could be

distinguished, for a confused murmur arose. The child glancing from

under her dishevelled fair long tresses, said: 'Observe, my little

David will yet save that great Goliath there.' The crowds without drew

themselves up and marched away, the youth returned again by the

garden-door, much heated and nearly breathless; he approached, the

hermit still lying prostrate, fixed his eyes upon him, then caught him

by the breast and said, 'rise up, God has again spared you to-day, you

are safe, return to the town or to your own house:' He then turned to

the huntsman, whispered something in his ear, whereupon the latter

suddenly fell terrified upon his knees and exclaimed, 'Mercy!' 'Be

silent!' said the young miller hastily. The priest looked as if he

could have embraced the knees of the wonderful youth, who now turned to

the master of the house, and said, in gentle tones: 'my honoured host,

I consider myself fortunate in having been able to protect you; there

were certainly a few Camisards, but the crowd was principally composed

of a number of drunken millers-men from my part of the country, who had

met with some other rough, intoxicated fellows. It was lucky, that I

was known to some of them, in consequence of which, the small number of

Camisards also suffered themselves to be pacified. It seems that they

assembled more for pleasure than for any wicked purpose. Receive my

thanks for your noble hospitality, worthy and honoured man.' He bowed,

the old Lord seemed as if he wished to embrace him, but the opportunity

was lost in irresolution and the stranger was already at the door.

"Farewell David!" exclaimed the child. He looked back once more with a

serious and enquiring expression, raised his hand and eyes as if

invoking a blessing, and then quitted the hall.

Those who remained behind, looked at one another as if they had

witnessed the performance of a miracle. The first light of morning

already dawned, and the dense multitude was seen retreating over the

mountains, Edmond was standing in deep thought, and the old Lord, after

having unlocked his gun, gave it to the servant, to carry away. The

hermit drew near abashed, as if he felt considerably diminished in size

since the day before. "I leave your house, my Lord," said he, in a

voice scarcely audible, and with a heart greatly depressed; "I had

almost drawn upon your honoured head the malediction attending my own

errors, but the Lord has averted it." He took the road to Nismes; the

huntsman had already slipped away.

"My Lord Counsellor of Parliament," cried the priest, "you have not

seen us to-day in the most favourable light, now that all has passed

off happily; I am a man again; courage revives once more within me, I

could now show you that I am no coward, if a few of these villains

would but return. Receive my thanks, honoured sir, and you too my

young--but what do I see?" Now, for the first time, he perceived

that he was politely taking leave with his hat in his hand, and his

night-cap still on his head;--abashed he pulled it off, and thrust it

into his pocket?--"This is the worst of all," said he, his whole face

reddening; "One may thus see to what a sensible man may be reduced in

these troublous times." He again made a hasty bow and retreated.

"Who was this youth?" asked the old Lord. "Probably one of those

infamous rebels," replied Edmond in great wrath; "I had rendered

perhaps a service to God and the king, if I had sent this ball after

him!" "Father," said the child, "believe me, he was the angel Gabriel,

and brother Edmond will yet be converted, and love him as I do." "Go to

bed again, my little one," said her father, "you require rest, poor

child!"

"That was no good night," said Eveline, "so now good morning, father!

it grows so beautifully bright!" she retired with the female

attendants, and Edmond and his father alone remained behind in the

saloon. They were both silent for a long time, at length Edmond took

his gun, and said, "what do you think of all this, and especially of

this mysterious fellow, who can demean himself so innocently, and with

so much _naivete_?"

"I must not express my thoughts," answered his father, "perhaps they

would sound too romantic. You will leave us again, my son? and probably

will not come back to dinner?"

"You know," replied Edmond, "my passion for hunting and the delight I

take in mountains and forests; nature elevates us above our suffering;

she strengthens our feelings; she inspires and gives us that noble

vigour, which becomes but too often enervated in society, and in every

day life. This will be a glorious day after the storm; I will forget

all that I have experienced here."

"Let us but bring to nature a pious and purified spirit," said his

father, "and she becomes to us the holiest of temples, psalms and songs

of praise will then re-echo our holy inspirations; but her gloomy rocks

and waterfalls, her desolate solitude with black masses of clouds

brooding above, her wild echo can also excite still more the uneasy,

agitated mind, and arouse more powerfully the turbulent spirit, for she

answers only as she is questioned."

"I will therefore speak to her in my way," replied Edmond, half

petulantly, "woods and mountains will perhaps understand me better than

men." He bowed and went through the garden, and descended the vineyards

already glittering, with the first rays of morning.

"He is going there again to Alais," said his father sighing, "and his

wild enthusiasm for nature gives place to a well-lighted saloon,

card-playing, witticisms, and frivolous conversations. Woe to me that I

must thus recognise in him the characteristics of my youth, disfigured

and exaggerated!"